


Comfort

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, M/M, Trans John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wants to take John out on his birthday, but there's a hiccup when John doesn't want to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



The luckiest man on earth.

He had to be, there was absolutely no way anyone else alive could be as happy as he was right now.

Sitting on the sofa of John’s flat, waiting for him to come out and finally show him how he looked, how utterly beautiful he always looked, he was absolutely giddy.

They’d been dating several months now, every day better than the last, even on John’s bad days. Jim didn’t mind. He would hold him and whisper to him it was alright, promise him that he was the most gorgeous man there ever was with so much sincerity and care John would burst into tears and hide his face in his chest awhile.

Good or bad, Jim had fallen, and fallen hard for the army doctor. Each dinner, each moment spent in each other’s arms, each movie and thrown piece of popcorn, each bath shared sent him spiraling further and further into his love for him.

He did love him. All of him. His heart, his mind, his body, and those eyes of his were just stunning. Someday he might be brave enough to tell him so.

Tonight however, he was simply waiting with an ear turned to a quiet bathroom door.

“Johnny, baby, we’re going to be late!” He called.

“I’m not going!” John answered back.

The smile vanished from Jim’s face and he stood, walking to the bathroom door. “What do you mean you’re not going?” He asked through the door.

“I’m not- I can’t, I just can’t. Go without me.”

“Baby, I’m not going to this opera without you. It’s for your birthday, sweetheart, I can’t just go without you,” he implored.

“Those people will be there, you’ll be fine.”

“Those people do not matter, they got me the tickets, that’s all.”

“They want to give you a million pounds each for offing their boss, I think they’re more important than I am!”

Jim frowned. “That’s not true at all. No one on earth is more important than you, now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing! I just don’t feel like going. Is that a crime?” He was angry, but not the pure rage angry, the embarrassed angry.

“Johnny…” He said softly. Silence echoed back to him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” More silence. “Can I come in?”

The lock clicked so he could.

He peeked inside, worried.

John was standing in front of the mirror in his knickers -cor did he hate boxers, he’d learned that the hard way this past Valentine’s day-, binder in place, his dress shirt open.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered, reaching to take his hand. John took a deep breath.

“This is all I have,” he rasped, tugging the dress shirt. “But it’s…” Jim saw then. The shirt sloped in, made to hug femininity and accentuate it, and it was entirely unwanted here. “I thought I could just...just wear the bloody thing, but I can’t. I can’t, I tried, Jim, I…” He turned and looked up at him, frustrated tears in his eyes.

Jim softened, sliding one hand up John’s throat to cup his cheek and kiss him, the other pushing the dress shirt off his shoulders. “If you don’t want to wear this? You won’t. Plain and simple.”

“But I don’t, I don’t have anything else,” he pressed.

“You will. After tomorrow anyway, I’m taking you shopping, baby- Ah, no. No arguing. It’s a birthday present.”

“I thought dinner and the opera were my present,” he said, folding his arms. Jim rolled his eyes.

“You can have more than one present. Besides, I missed your half birthday, didn’t I?”

“Jim, I’m serious.”

“And so am I,” he assured, smiling softly at him. “If you aren’t comfortable, then you won’t have a good time. And that should never, never happen on my darling’s birthday.” He kissed his forehead, then his lips. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I...we have to dress nice, and that’s-”

“Who said we have to dress nice?” He grinned. “I can do whatever I want, and that goes double for the beautiful man adorning my arm tonight.”

“So…”

“So go get dressed. I might have to borrow something from you, though.” 

John giggled, walking through the lobby of the theatre in a dark blue jumper Jim bought for him for Christmas, the boutonniere meant for his jacket pinned to his chest, the little red carnation out of place and gleaming,  and denims. Jim walked around in his fitted slacks and the cream colored jumper of John’s that scooped much lower on his neck, narrow shoulders making it dip off one side.

“See, we look splendid,” he grinned, squeezing John’s arm while he pushed a check into the house manager’s hand that made her sit down and count the zeros.

People were staring, and for once John didn’t care. He smiled all the way to their box seats, grinning at his boyfriend and leaning his head on his shoulder as the overture started.

“Still think you should’ve worn that T-shirt,” he remarked. Jim barked a laugh.

“You just wanted to see my midriff all night,” he smirked, idly smoothing fingers through John’s hair.

“Are we still going to dinner after this?” He asked, a tad incredulous, given their attire. Jim grinned. “Absolutely we are. Caviar and champagne for the sexy man in jeans,” he giggled, kissing his nose. “Nothing but the best for you, Johnny boy.”

The curtain rose and the opera began, both men huddled close as they could to watch.

John sighed, deciding that he was the luckiest man alive.

“Happy Birthday, Johnny.”

The absolute luckiest.

 


End file.
